


resurrection had to wait till they had moved a stone

by wrennette



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin is trained by someone else, Injury Recovery, M/M, depressed Qui-Gon, description of dismembered body parts, eventual Jedi Maul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 14:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: “Always two, there are,” Yoda said grimly, and the younger Jedi at his side nodded, remembering his lessons on the last galaxy-spanning war. “But which, this was?” the ancient Jedi mused aloud. “The Master? Or the Apprentice?”Obi-Wan goes Sith-hunting, and Qui-Gon thinks he's failed another apprentice.





	resurrection had to wait till they had moved a stone

**Author's Note:**

> title stolen from a poem by Emily Dickinson. 
> 
> this was originally begun for Party Like it's 1999, but then I couldn't quite finish it and took forever finding a title I liked, so here it is a few months later.
> 
> further warnings in end notes.

“Always two, there are,” Yoda said grimly, and the younger Jedi at his side nodded, remembering his lessons on the last galaxy-spanning war. “But which, this was?” the ancient Jedi mused aloud. “The Master? Or the Apprentice?” Silence stretched out around them. “Your task it will be, to determine this. Much time it will take you, and much secrecy. Thought lost, you will be, by all.” 

A silent dip of the head was all the acknowledgement needed in acceptance of the covert mission. 

“The Force, always with you will be,” Yoda said in parting; a benediction, and a close held hope. 

The young Jedi nodded again, and Yoda shuffled away, placing his faith in the new-made Knight. Behind him, Obi-Wan Kenobi took a deep, not-quite-steady breath. He had his assignment. But there was one thing he had to do before he departed. Yoda, he knew, would take care of the bureaucratic aspects, giving Obi-Wan’s regrets to Queen Amidala, and spreading the tale that Obi-Wan had been cast out of the Order for doing something untoward. 

While the attention of all was on Master Yoda and the Councillors who had accompanied him from Coruscant on the new Chancellor’s yacht, Obi-Wan slipped into the medical ward hidden deep in the palace. A droid bustled past Obi-Wan as he pushed into a private room. Inside, the soft, steady beeping of a vitals monitor attested to the continued survival of Obi-Wan’s Master. Former Master. 

Obi-Wan crossed the room, picking up the datapad tied to the monitors and reading the information displayed. Qui-Gon would live. He would be very unhappy for a very long time, but he would live. In Obi-Wan’s mind, that was the matter of prime importance. With a sigh, Obi-Wan sat at the bedside, taking Qui-Gon’s large, limp hand in both of his.

“I _am_ sorry about all this,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “Perhaps it’s for the best though. I never mean to be standing in your path, and yet we keep finding ourselves at cross-purposes.” He sighed again, a tickle of foreboding in his gut. “I will do my best to honour your teachings Master, now that I won’t have you at my side any longer.”

Rising, Obi-Wan carefully settled Qui-Gon’s hand back on the bed, then leaned over. Gently, he brushed a few stray strands of greying hair back from Qui-Gon’s brow. He smiled, small and sad, then brushed his lips over Qui-Gon’s forehead in the lightest of kisses. 

“May the Force be with you Master, always.” 

Turning on his heel, Obi-Wan strode from the medical ward, and shortly, from the palace. It would be years before he saw another Jedi.

* * *

Qui-Gon struggled to full consciousness, the world muffled and distant beyond his too-heavy eyelids. He groaned weakly, and tried to shift, then hissed sharply. It was more the memory of pain than pain itself, searing through his gut and blanking his mind. 

Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon fumbled for the Force, needing to know that his Padawan was okay, was - at least - alive. The Force slipped from his grasp like a Purcassian River Eel. He tried again to move, and a small hand - gnarled and three-fingered - closed around his fingers. Qui-Gon settled slightly at that. 

“Yo-” Qui-Gon began.

“Quiet, you will be,” Yoda said with a decisiveness Qui-Gon hadn’t heard in some time. Something was wrong then. _Obi-Wan_. “Alive you are, when dead you might have been. Grateful for this I am.” 

“Obi-” Qui-Gon managed to rasp out, still trying to pry his eyes open so he could see Yoda, get a better read on the ancient being. 

Yoda was silent for a long moment. Too long. 

“Please.”

Yoda let out a gusty sigh. “Killed in anger and fear, Obi-Wan did,” Yoda said, and Qui-Gon’s stomach churned, trying to drop out through his back. 

“No,” Qui-Gon denied, hoarse but vehement. 

“Forced you to live, he did, when died, you would have,” Yoda continued, his words falling like hammer-blows. 

“No,” Qui-Gon said weakly. “I - I would know,” he argued, inferring that Yoda thought Obi-Wan had given in to his anger - to the Dark side.

“Know, you would?” Yoda asked, and Qui-Gon’s heart shattered. He _wouldn’t_. Despite all the warning signs, despite all the cautioning of his friends and peers, he had never _imagined_ Xanatos could betray the Jedi as he did. And while he’d been wary of Obi-Wan’s anger in the beginning of their partnership, Qui-Gon had brushed those fears aside years ago. And yet - _killed in anger and fear_ , Yoda had said. _Fallen_ reverberated through Qui-Gon’s soul. _Failed_.

“I have failed him,” Qui-Gon managed to gasp out. He had grown overly attached, he knew. He had begun to delight in the curve of Obi-Wan’s smile and the brilliance of his wit, rather than his diligence and determination, although those facets of Obi-Wan were no less dear to him. He had begun to love his Padawan as a man, and that love had blinded him to Obi-Wan’s faults, as his paternal love for Xanatos had once blinded him to that apprentice’s failings.

“Hmmmm,” Yoda grumbled, but his tough, clawed hand tightened around Qui-Gon’s fingers.

“Anakin?” Qui-Gon asked after a while, and Yoda hummed again. 

“Placed in the creche, the boy will be. Much to learn he has, before a Padawan he should become.” 

Qui-Gon nodded at that. Relief, rather than the expected elation of victory washed through him at hearing the boy would be trained. But the idea of taking another Padawan - when he’d failed Obi-Wan, and before him Xanatos - maybe he wasn’t meant to teach after all. Maybe, in time, he would feel differently. But for the moment - his heart ached with his failure, with his grief.

* * *

The Force prickled around Obi-Wan, tense as tight-wound wire. He kept his breathing slow and steady, almost meditative. From the underbelly of Naboo he had tracked a labyrinthine trail of waste haulers and subcontractors, salvage ships and trash scows. That path had brought him here. 

Lotho Minor.

Reeking of refuse, the entire planet was a junk heap and dumping ground. Every world needed someplace to send their trash, and Lotho Minor was one in a string of landfills in the Outer Rim, the native ecosystems long since destroyed by the unchecked disposal of waste shipped out from worlds closer to the Core. 

Reaching out, Obi-Wan felt for the oily presence that had lingered at the bottom of the reactor shaft on Naboo, and in the hold of the junk hauler he had eventually tracked down. It was faint, but there, and made stronger by proximity. Under the now almost familiar sense of the Sith, the heat of agony bloomed. Obi-Wan nearly withdrew, nearly let his fear govern his reaction. 

That presence was not the lingering impression of a corpse, but the brilliance of a being in unimaginable pain. The Zabrak had survived. Again fear rose up, and again Obi-Wan pushed it aside. It was better this way, he told himself, and rather to his surprise, the Force agreed. Obi-Wan gathered his courage. He was a Jedi, and he would not fail on his very first mission as a Knight. 

Setting the unpleasant sensation at the forefront of his mind, Obi-Wan followed it through the heaping mounds of trash. The path wove precariously around and beneath the tenuously piled junk of the dumping grounds, and he had to keep one hand on his ‘saber as he went, wary of the predators that lurked in the squalor. He skirted pools of toxic runoff, using the Force to filter the airborne poisons from his lungs. 

The Force eventually brought Obi-Wan to a shallow hollow scratched out in the side of a hulking mountain of refuse. Nearby, a bloated pair of flyblown legs swathed in dark fabric decomposed. Within the abbreviated shelter, the Zabrak Obi-Wan had faced on Naboo lay curled in the muck, the bottom of his torso truncated at the hip. Maggots and flies feasted on flesh burned black and rank with rot. The stench was not only of decay, but sickness and bodily waste. The Zabrak lay in his own excrement, too weak to move. 

Glittering sulphurous yellow eyes slit open, but slid over the Jedi as if he wasn’t even there. Cautiously, Obi-Wan approached. But the Sith - and he was certain the Zabrak was a Sith - barely seemed to register his presence. As he drew closer, he could see that the Zabrak’s formerly vibrantly-red and deep-black skin was dulled and ashen, his eyes fever-glazed. The Zabrak’s lips were cracked and chapped with dehydration. Pity welled up in the Jedi, easing his initial fear into wariness. 

Carefully, he knelt beside the Zabrak, pulling his canteen from its hook on his utility belt. The Zabrak didn’t fight as Obi-Wan lifted his head and shoulders, dribbling a trickle of water over his parted lips. The Zabrak’s swollen tongue pushed out of his mouth, chasing the promise of clean water. Carefully, the Jedi helped the Zabrak drink in slow sips, metering the water so it didn’t sicken the ailing Zabrak further. 

Kneeling there in the filth with the quarry he had been sent to capture, Obi-Wan contemplated his options. The resources on this world were few, and although he’d secured his ship well, he was wary of interlopers. Lotho Minor’s environment would do them no favours - pitted metal spoke to the acidity of the precipitation, and the Jedi doubted there was anything wholesome to be eaten. Better then for him to bring the Zabrak back to his ship, and make his way to a more civilized world, where he could get supplies and medical intervention. Perhaps saving this Sith had not been the intention of his assignment, but faced with the Zabrak, the Jedi could do nothing else without abdicating his own morals and sense of responsibility.

* * *

Qui-Gon trembled as he dragged his sluggish legs along beneath him, his arms supporting most of his weight on the railings that ran at mid-torso height. He had been in and out of surgery and bacta for months since waking on Naboo. Now, slowly recovering back in the Temple on Coruscant, he began to wonder what it was all for. 

The two Padawans he had wholly trained himself had Fallen, and he could see little future for himself with the Order. He clearly wasn’t meant to be a teacher, and with his body so slow to regain its strength, he began to doubt he would have much use as a Consular-diplomat. He had been mediating tense situations for most of his life, and knew well that his deft skill with a lightsaber had been part of what made him so successful. While negotiations at saber-point weren’t common, the unspoken threat went a long way in ensuring the civil behavior of stakeholders. Now, he had trouble taking a single step unsupported.

Rage at his helplessness swelled up in Qui-Gon. He made only a half-hearted attempt at beating it back, letting it go. The anger gave him power - the wrong kind of power, he knew, but he was desperate enough he seriously thought about reaching into that pool, using that strength. Even as he began to grasp hold of his anger, he remembered. 

_Killed in anger and fear, Obi-Wan did_ , Yoda said in Qui-Gon’s relentlessly accurate memory, and the anger dissipated into grief. Qui-Gon sagged, taking his weight onto his underarms as he hung from the parallel bars, his legs throbbing distantly with pain. _Fallen_ Qui-Gon castigated himself, _failed_. 

Somewhere in his teachings he’d destroyed the light of a once-promising Jedi. Was it any surprise that the Force now slipped from his grasp? 

Too tired and sad to haul himself upright, Qui-Gon let gravity pull his weight the rest of the way to the floor. He landed heavily, the shock of falling slightly muffled by the matting, but painful nonetheless. He couldn’t help but think it didn’t hurt nearly enough. 

Qui-Gon lay there for a long time, until he heard the soft tapping of Master Yoda’s cane approaching. He didn’t want to hear the old Master’s platitudes. Didn’t want to be scolded again about how he was pushing himself too hard. 

“This pain, I never wished for you,” Yoda said from behind Qui-Gon, and Qui-Gon resolutely didn’t turn around. “Not only yourself do you hurt. A boy there is, waiting for you in the creche.”

“Someone else will train him,” Qui-Gon said, shutting down that too-familiar line of conversation. “I cannot. I will not be responsible for destroying the Chosen One, as I destroyed Xanatos, as I destroyed Obi-Wan.”

“That title, _you_ have given him,” Yoda reminded. Qui-Gon bristled. 

“He _is_ the Chosen One,” Qui-Gon bit out, anger flaring up once more. Yoda merely hummed quietly. The heat drained away at that, the sound so linked in Qui-Gon’s mind to the gentle questions Yoda taught with. Qui-Gon couldn’t help but wonder what he had missed. He was clearly not cut out for teaching, and to train Anakin, when so much depended on the boy, seemed to be inviting trouble. No, he would leave that to more capable hands. Perhaps Yoda himself would train the boy, once Anakin was a little more settled into the Temple and caught up with his age-mates.

* * *

He awoke to the muffling warmth of extraordinarily effective pain-killers and the unmistakable scents of bacta and a sterile environment. Unbidden, hope welled up between his hearts - he had been found. A moment later he became aware enough for confusion to set in, as he struggled to remember his name, where he had been, why he was lost.

Maul. 

He was Maul, and he’d been half-killed and left for dead by the Jedi - by Kenobi, who he’d all but discounted when making his plans. He’d done his research - he was always diligent - but Kenobi’s record, while meritorious for a Jedi Padawan, hadn’t painted him as anyone spectacular - anyone capable of defeating a Sith Lord in single combat. Clearly Maul had been wrong. And now, he was wrong again.

As long as Maul could remember, his Master had impressed upon him that he was a tool - useful, but only until he broke, and then he would be discarded. Clearly he was broken - he was well aware that Kenobi had taken his legs. He’d been discarded like so much trash, dumped on some distant junkworld to finish dying. Perhaps it hadn’t been by his Master’s design, but it would certainly suit the old bastard to wash his hands of Maul so neatly.

Maul couldn’t remember how long he’d dragged himself through the filth there before succumbing to dehydration and fever. And yet someone had plucked him out of that hell. Someone had looked upon him, and been moved to help him, to bring him to this place of refuge where he could recover. Such mercy was the sort of thing Sidious would scorn. It was something Maul - despite his Master’s lessons - had longed for during his torturous training sessions.

Who, Maul wondered? Who had seen him stranded there and decided to help him? 

Reaching out tentatively in the Force, Maul felt the distant presences of many lives, some weak or struggling, others moving about with purposes. The other patients in this place, and those who cared for them. There was something else too - a presence stronger and more vital than the rest, one that seemed almost familiar, despite that he couldn’t place it. 

It was not his Master, Maul knew. He would recognize _that_ presence even in his sleep, even drugged out of his mind. Even as he thought of his Master, Maul reached carefully for the bond that linked them. He had been discarded, he knew. But did his Master know he was still alive? The bond was always well shielded, but Maul was practiced at determining his Master’s state of mind even around and through that shielding. 

Dead. 

The bond was all but unshielded, and Maul could easily determine that his Master thought nothing of him, because his Master assumed he was dead. Sidious was already plotting how to subvert a disaffected Jedi as his new apprentice, and had slain his own Master while Maul lay delirious and near-death. 

Relief washed through Maul. Dead. His Master thought he was dead, and so the tie between them was broken. Maul retreated, carefully shielding his own mind as tightly as possible. He was dead in his Master’s mind, and could start his life over again.

Fear crept in, in the wake of that initial wave of relief. Maul didn’t know how to do anything but be Sidious’ apprentice. He had worked all his life to achieve the honour of being addressed as Darth Maul. He despised his Master, and his Master’s Master, and had plotted in secret how to betray them both. But that was the way of the Sith. He knew nothing else.

He would recover first, Maul decided, corralling his fear until he could make use of it. He would discover the identity of his benefactor, and determine what they felt they were owed for saving Maul’s life. He would clear that debt, and only then would he worry about the future. 

Resolved, Maul allowed himself to relax back a little, and take stock. He was safe for the moment, warm and well fed. He was growing healthier. He took a steadying breath. He would heal. He would grow stronger. There was a whole universe out there. All he had to do - all he could do - was wait.

* * *

Anakin sulkily obeyed the Crechemaster, lining up with the others to be fed. It was different than he’d expected here, not that he really could have voiced what his expectations were. Just different. He’d thought - after Qui-Gon had insisted - that he would be Qui-Gon’s, that Qui-Gon would be his Master and they would go have adventures together.

He understood - he really did! - that the red-and-black man had hurt Qui-Gon, and that Qui-Gon was sad about his old student doing something wrong. He knew Qui-Gon had to recover and get better. He just - he’d thought it wouldn’t take so long. How was he supposed to see every world orbiting every star, or free all the slaves, when he was stuck in stupid classes with stupid little kids, learning how to conjugate Durosian and politely address various dignitaries?

Anakin liked the hand-to-hand and lightsaber combat classes the best, but even there he was sure he’d fare better if they’d just let Qui-Gon teach him. He was behind all the Temple-raised kids his own age, and felt awkward and stupid learning the basics with Initiates who were just starting their formal schooling. It wasn’t as if he’d had any formal schooling himself, but the math was too easy, boring beyond belief for him, and he already knew bits of Bocce, Huttese, and Ryl even though he could barely read Aurebesh. 

When the instructors were prattling on about basic nonsense in Anakin’s lesson on data structures, he would poke at his ‘pad, rooting into the base coding to see if he could make it display in Bocce instead of Basic, or access the restricted servers that held information on Jedi personnel and their missions. He just wanted to see what Qui-Gon was up to, since Master Qui-Gon hadn’t come to see him.

It took a while, slicing through the layers of security with a datapad only ever intended to be used for reading classwork. But Anakin was persistent, and he was rather skilled too. Eventually, he connected to the appropriate datacore, and could rifle through the personnel files. 

Qui-Gon Jinn’s status was listed as _Off Rota: Disabled_. Anakin couldn’t get any deeper into the big Jedi’s file than that. Just _Off Rota: Disabled_. Still. It didn’t paint a very promising picture. Anakin felt both better and worse. 

Better, because maybe it wasn’t that Qui-Gon didn’t _want_ to come see him. Maybe it was that Qui-Gon _couldn’t_ come see him. But that was rather distressing too. Anakin had known Qui-Gon was hurt. He’d even known that Qui-Gon had stayed on Naboo for months after Anakin was brought back to Coruscant. But he’d thought that now that Qui-Gon was back in the Temple, surely the Jedi Healers could use the Force to make him better straight away.

* * *

Quietly, Obi-Wan stepped into the private room. Within, the Zabrak lay still. The door hissed closed behind him.

“Come to finish the job, Jedi?” the Zabrak said weakly, turning his head slightly to show gleaming golden eyes. He might be weak and feverish, not yet fully recovered from dehydration and hunger on top of his wounds, but he wouldn’t cower. Not now, not ever. And certainly not before this stripling of a Jedi.

“No,” the Jedi replied. While this was the same being who’d so nearly slain his Master, who had nearly killed him, he felt only sympathy for the Zabrak’s plight. “It is true I was sent to determine if you still posed a danger to my brethren, and while I do not doubt your skill, I do not believe the Force wills your death. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I would see you healed.”

“My Master would not feel the same,” the Zabrak said, voice a low rasp. Obi-Wan just waited. While not terribly patient by nature, the years of his apprenticeship had trained Obi-Wan well. The Force hummed and swelled around them, and after an indeterminate time, the Zabrak sighed, collapsing in on himself as the adrenaline rush faded. “I am Maul,” he said finally. “And it isn’t as though I can stop you.”

Obi-Wan dipped his head, and poured a glass of water, then held it to Maul’s mouth. Maul hesitated, but didn’t move away from the offering, or try and prevent Obi-Wan from assisting him. Neither looked away from the other as Maul drank, the peace between them fragile.

“What do you really want?” Maul asked warily when he had finished the small glass, a trickle of water dripping down his chin to pool in the hollow of his throat.

“My assignment was to determine if you were the Master or the Apprentice, and to find the other, once that had been confirmed,” Obi-Wan said. He shrugged. “I would say that I plan to kill your Master, but I doubt that is something of which I’m capable, since I clearly didn’t manage to kill you.” Maul snorted.

“He would make mincemeat of you,” Maul said, not sure if he were bragging about his Master’s skill or warning the Jedi away from a task that was beyond him. 

Obi-Wan simply nodded, accepting that pronouncement with equanimity. Silence settled around them, not quite comfortable, but not unbearably tense, either. Maul was fairly confident the Jedi would not kill him in cold blood, and Obi-Wan knew that for the moment, he was stronger and better armed than the Sith. They were at an impasse.

* * *

Grumbling to himself, Qui-Gon headed towards the Room of a Thousand Fountains. While he’d regained a great deal of his strength and mobility over the past year, the Council still refused to return him to active duty until he saw a Mind Healer. As he had resisted similar directives in the past, so he flouted the instruction now. 

Eventually, they would concede and put him back on the mission rota, allow him to go out and actually do some good in the universe. Qui-Gon just had to wait them out. And until they did as Qui-Gon desired - well, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t stand to brush up on his ‘saberwork. Clearly, despite being one of the regular top competitors in the annual Masters tournament, he had some work to do if the Zabrak had all but killed him on Naboo.

The memory of Naboo sparked the embers of rage that still burned in Qui-Gon. It had been over a year, but just thinking of that planet invariably led to thoughts of Obi-Wan’s betrayal. The anger Qui-Gon refused to release just barely covered the deeper grief and loss he carried. 

He would get back out there, he promised himself. He wouldn’t let Obi-Wan’s betrayal keep him from helping people. Thoughts of helping others finally allowed Qui-Gon to find some measure of peace in the Force, and he reached out gratefully, touching against the green and growing things that surrounded him there in the garden, allowing the simple energy of those small lives to sooth him.

This serenity, Qui-Gon told himself, was all he needed. Not platitudes from Yoda or exercises from a Mind Healer. Just this, the peace of the Living Force cradling him in the present moment.

* * *

“Don’t you have something better to do?” Maul growled through his pain as Obi-Wan offered his hands to help the Zabrak up. Maul’s new, cloned legs ached, the nerves still firing strangely after the transplant. 

“Didn’t you know? I’m interrogating you about the Sith Master Plan,” Obi-Wan said with a slight smile. 

Maul huffed, but accepted Obi-Wan’s help to rise. While he greatly disliked being witnessed in his time of weakness, Maul had to admit, if only to himself, that Obi-Wan wasn’t utterly insufferable. He had taught Maul many things in the months since Maul had awaken at the medical center, and didn’t seem in much of a rush to bring Maul back to the Jedi Temple to face justice or some type of Jedi tribunal. For months now, Obi-Wan had simply been at Maul’s side, gently assisting him as he regained his health and strength, and then underwent the surgeries to attach his new legs once they were fully grown.

Regaining his balance, Maul nodded. Obi-Wan stepped back, and sank into the opening pose of the gentle stretching routine he was teaching Maul. As Maul understood it, it was an exercise taught to Jedi younglings, and although he’d been trained to despise the Jedi as soft and useless, he had to admit it was helpful as he gained use of his legs. Slowly, they went through the motions together, Maul wavering occasionally in his balance, but managing to make it through without toppling over again. Obi-Wan smiled, broad and bright as they finished, and Maul couldn’t help but smile slightly in return.

Each day, Obi-Wan would do these exercises with Maul, and although Obi-Wan didn’t press for information about Sidious, Maul found himself slowly opening up about his past. He spoke about how he had been trained, his Master’s unending demands and brutal punishments. He told Obi-Wan about the missions he had completed - and those he hadn’t, earning further castigation from Sidious. Obi-Wan listened, and if he judged Maul for any of his past actions, he didn’t mention it to Maul. 

Instead, Obi-Wan told Maul about his own missions in turn. The ways Jedi helped people, whether that was negotiating between opposing parties to bring about peace, or assisting in evacuations after natural crises, or remediating the lands after catastrophes. Maul recognized more than one mission that Obi-Wan mentioned, and knew that his once-Master, and his Master, had been out making more work for the Jedi, spreading them thin and wearing them out. 

In the past, Maul had seen such activities as part of the Sith’s natural superiority as they spread their corruption through the galaxy. Now, he began to understand that no matter how many others he harmed, hurting them wouldn’t heal him. But helping them, as the Jedi did. That just might. 

“Why are you helping me?” Maul demanded one afternoon, frustrated tears welling up as Obi-Wan helped him rise once more from the floor.

“Because you deserve more than your Master prepared you for,” Obi-Wan said gently. It took Maul a moment, and then he was leaning into Obi-Wan and embracing him greedily. 

“So do you,” Maul said, and felt Obi-Wan tremble in his arms. They leaned together, weeping quietly as the bond of understanding solidified between them.

* * *

Anakin narrowed his eyes as the big, two-horned Jedi approached. He’d noticed them before, watching him. They’d seemed familiar, but it had taken a while for Anakin to recollect that they were a member of the High Council - one of the Jedi who had tried to prevent his training. Anakin had begun to wonder if they were watching him in hopes of finding that early suspicion supported, maybe looking for reasons to expel him from the Order. 

At nearly 12, Anakin knew he was running out of time to be chosen as a Padawan. He hadn’t seen Qui-Gon in years, and had given up hope that his Finder - because of course the Jedi had an official title for that sort of thing - would take him as a Padawan. Rumour said that as soon as he had been cleared by the Healers, Jinn had been put back on the duty roster and spent as little time as possible in the Temple. Evidently he’d done the same when his previous Padawan Fell to the Dark. Given the rumours Anakin had heard about Obi-Wan Kenobi, it seemed Jinn was applying the same coping strategy.

Without his once-champion to advocate for his continued inclusion in the Order, Anakin had felt a little bereft. He’d pushed himself to be the best Initiate he could, to ensure he was chosen as a Padawan. Despite that he had a year left before mandatory reassignment, he wasn’t terribly optimistic. He still felt terribly behind in his classes on Jedi philosophies and the history of the Republic, and while he excelled in maths and engineering, that only seemed to earn him gentle encouragement to think about making a place for himself in the Exploration Corps rather than waiting to be trained into a Jedi Knight.

Was this another Master come to push him toward a life outside the Temple? Anakin couldn’t help but be suspicious. He tried to remember what he’d learned about the various Councillors. This one was Saesee Tiin, an Iktotchi. He was a telepath, Anakin recalled. Would Anakin know if his mind was being read? He knew that was against the rules, a breach of ethics. But living in the creche, Anakin had learned that rules were often viewed more as guidelines than absolutes, even among the Jedi. 

“There is no need to be nervous young Skywalker,” Tiin said in a deep voice, his enunciation precise. Anakin nodded in acknowledgement, although he didn’t quite agree. “I am sure you have noticed me watching you.” Anakin nodded again. “It is true the Council was hesitant about your induction into the Jedi Order, but you have proven your willingness to learn. As one who joined the Order later than most, and with unwieldy expectations upon my shoulders, it would be my honour to train you to Knighthood as my Padawan.” 

Anakin blinked, then blinked again. 

“I - Sir?” Anakin stammered, not quite believing what he’d heard. The corner of Tiin’s mouth turned up in a slight, stiff smile. 

“It would be my honour to guide you, Anakin Skywalker, if you would accept me as your mentor.” 

Stunned, Anakin gaped a moment longer, then fumbled for the Force. He didn’t feel qualified to make such a weighty decision without the guidance of that ineffable energy. The Force sang, quiet and reassuring, and Anakin remembered the other things he knew about Tiin. The Iktotchi was a skilled swordmaster and ace pilot. And - the Force seemed to think they would be a good match.

“It is my pleasure to accept,” Anakin said, and something in Tiin’s smile softened, becoming a little more sincere. He’d been nervous, Anakin realized in amazement. Master Tiin had been uncertain about asking Anakin to be his Padawan, despite that surely he must know Anakin was desperate to be trained. 

“My term on the High Council continues for some time, but I intend to resign so I may better dedicate myself to your education,” Tiin said, gesturing for Anakin to walk with him. “Until my resignation is accepted and my replacement is selected, you will unfortunately be kept in the Temple with me. It is my hope that once I am relieved of that duty, we will be able to expose you to the wider galaxy.” Anakin’s heart sang with anticipatory joy at that. He was going to go see other planets, and explore the stars. He was going to be a Jedi, and help people.

* * *

Maul snorted, and Obi-Wan’s rambling cut off. _Oops_ , Maul thought. He hadn’t meant to vocalize his incredulity. 

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, and Maul shrugged. “What?” Obi-Wan insisted, and Maul sighed. 

“You love with him,” Maul observed, “your old Master. You mention him incessantly, and not just because he was the central figure in your life for the past decade. The tone of your voice changes, you get this far-off look in your eyes - you love him. No - you’re _in love_ with him.”

“I’m -” Obi-Wan started, then sighed, deflating a bit. Lying to Maul was all but impossible after all the time they’d spent together, and certainly not worth the effort when Maul had the right of the situation. Obi-Wan sighed again. “So I’m in love with him. It’s not like anything will ever come of it. He barely wanted me as a Padawan, and I’m certain he never thought of me as anything _but_ a Padawan. He couldn’t get rid of me fast enough when someone more to his liking came along.”

Maul shrugged. He didn’t exactly have any experience being in love. He was barely willing to name the affection he felt towards Obi-Wan, and that wasn’t love, at least not in the romantic sense. Moreover, while he could easily write a dissertation on Qui-Gon Jinn’s fighting style, that didn’t make Maul an expert on the man. He was clearly becoming an expert on Obi-Wan’s feelings though. Maul wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. 

“Tell me about him,” Maul commanded. “Not as your Master, but as the being you so clearly love.” Obi-Wan blushed, the tips of his ears pinking, and Maul fought the urge to laugh. Humans were such ridiculous creatures. Still, if they weren’t, he might still be on Lotho Minor. Maul nudged Obi-Wan with the Force, and Obi-Wan huffed. 

“He’s very kind,” Obi-Wan started, and Maul snorted, nearly choking as he stifled a laugh. “Oh shut up, he is. A bit of an asshole too, but kind.”

“I’m not even asking how that works,” Maul said, and Obi-Wan swatted him lightly with the Force. From there, the conversation devolved into an impromptu wrestling match with rampant Force-use to try and pin one another or escape holds.

* * *

Anakin disengaged, grinning broadly. Saesee nodded, and Anakin could feel his mentor’s approval through the training bond. In the years since becoming the Iktotchi’s Padawan, Anakin had progressed in leaps and bounds. Saesee was an exceptional duellist, and his skill with a lightsaber was surpassed only by his abilities as a starpilot. 

“You’re progressing well,” Saesee said, and Anakin’s grin broadened. “You have the rest of the day to yourself.” Anakin dipped his head, and was soon on his way to the lush gardens. They were his favourite place to sit and think, and he found himself feeling a bit more introspective than usual. It had something to do, he thought, with the news that had circulated recently about Chancellor Palpatine. The former Senator of Naboo had been kind to Anakin, reaching out to him once he became a Padawan.

It had taken a little while for Anakin to learn to trust Saesee back then, and Palpatine had offered a seemingly non-judgmental ear to Anakin’s concerns about the Jedi Order. In time, Anakin had learned to trust Saesee, helped by the fact that Saesee never once asked that Anakin call him Master. When Anakin had gathered the courage, Saesee had even explained why the Council had opposed Anakin joining the Order at first. It was not his fear that had made them wary, Saesee said, but Anakin’s attempt to hide that fear, his dishonesty about his emotions. It was not his power, but what that power might mean dwelling in someone unwilling to admit their insecurities. 

While those assurances had been a balm to Anakin, Palpatine had still become a treasured mentor. But slowly over the years, rumours of corruption had begun to grow louder, and harder to wave away as hearsay. Some, Anakin could blame on political maneuvering. But while nothing that could remove Palpatine from power ever surfaced, there was enough gossip to make Anakin question how well he really knew the man. 

In contrast, the more Anakin got to know his mentor, the better Anakin liked and trusted the sturdy Iktotchi. Saesee’s firm and quiet tutelage had given him a bedrock on which to build his life as a Jedi. Through careful lessons, Saesee taught Anakin the philosophies and ethics that most Jedi learned in the creche, while also guiding him through advanced aeronautics, astrogation, and a multitude of other academic courses that played to Anakin’s strengths in physics and engineering.

After a while, Anakin had begun finding excuses not to visit the Chancellor when Palpatine invited him for a chat. He wanted to focus on his studies, and that was an honest truth. He had a mission with his mentor, and that too was true. 

The most recent holo-news story hinted that Palpatine might have invested in some of the Outer Rim gladiatorial arenas, blood-sport that often featured slaves fighting to the death. Anakin didn’t know if it was true or not. But it didn’t ring entirely false, and Palpatine hadn’t issued any sort of denial - Anakin knew that sometimes with politicians, a denial only gave credence to a false claim. But with this - Anakin thought it behooved Palpatine to decry slavery in the harshest possible terms, given how he’d once presented himself as Anakin’s understanding confidant on the subject. 

With a sigh, Anakin settled the matter in his mind. No, he no longer felt he knew Palpatine. The man might have been a mentor for a time, but it was clear that his long term wielding the executive powers of the Republic had eroded his ethics to the point where he was unrecognizable to Anakin. He would continue to find reasons to avoid the Chancellery. Resolved, Anakin took in the gardens around him.

The overhead lights had dimmed to false twilight, and avians and insects were singing in the dusk. Near a cluster of bushes a few meters away, another Jedi sat on the ground. It took Anakin a moment to place the tall Jedi. 

“Master Qui-Gon?” Anakin asked, and distant blue eyes focused in on him. The silver had become more prevalent than the brown over the years in Qui-Gon’s hair, and his cheeks were hollow - he’d lost weight. A cane rested beside him on the ground. 

“Hello Anakin, how are you?” Qui-Gon asked, but Anakin could feel that while the man cared, he was only asking because he knew it was expected. 

“I’m well,” Anakin answered, and invited himself to have a seat closer, so he wasn’t shouting across the distance between them. “I - I’m Master Tiin’s Padawan,” he said, and Qui-Gon nodded. 

“He will be a good teacher,” Qui-Gon said, and Anakin nodded, feeling as if there was another level to the conversation that he couldn’t comprehend. 

“You would have been a good teacher too,” Anakin offered, still uncertain why his Finder hadn’t Chosen him as a Padawan. Qui-Gon scoffed and shook his head. 

“No,” Qui-Gon said firmly. “No, it is better I not teach,” Qui-Gon said, and grimaced. “My last two Padawans left the Order, and my first - my first came to me almost fully trained. No, I don’t think I’m cut out for teaching Ani, although I am glad I found you, and could have a hand in your becoming the magnificent Jedi I’m sure you will be.” Anakin blinked, and Qui-Gon patted him gently on the knee, then slowly rose, unsteadily shuffling off.

* * *

“Ready?” Maul asked, and beside him, Obi-Wan nodded. The Jedi, like Maul, as dressed in black clothing that allowed free movement while concealing his identity. Both of them were hooded and masked, their Force presences pulled in tight beneath their skin in a technique Maul had taught Obi-Wan. 

In the five years since following Maul to Lotho Minor, Obi-Wan had earned the Zabrak’s implicit trust. Even once Maul had recovered, Obi-Wan had treated him with respect, had taught him and trained alongside him. Obi-Wan had learned from Maul in turn, and his openness to understanding Maul had helped Maul turn aside some of the more harmful beliefs he’d developed under Sidious’ tutelage. Now, they stood ready to undo the last tie between Maul and his former Master.

Maul had confessed Sidious’ alias some time before, and Obi-Wan had promptly offered to assist Maul in this endeavour - discovering all of the Sith’s secrets, and then ending the line of Bane. Maul no longer claimed the title Darth, no longer prided himself as a scion of Sith. He was still a practitioner of a Dark side of the Force, but that, in itself, was no crime. He had also become a student of the Light, and while there were aspects of the Jedi path he found laughable, he also respected Obi-Wan’s faith. If it were not so strong, Obi-Wan would have attempted to kill him more than once over the years.

Maul had felt the death of Sidious’ Master when Sidious became Chancellor of the Republic. They had been planning this assassination almost ever since. Maul was intimately familiar with the layout of Sidious’ country home on Naboo, to which Sidious retired every year for a short spell. Usually, Maul knew, Sidious undertook a great deal of his Sith business during that time, when he was away from the watching eyes of the Republic. It would be the ideal time to ambush him. 

Quietly they moved on the mansion, slipping from shadow to shadow. They skirted surveillance droids and security traps, and silently entered the residence. Infiltrating the interior, they soon found Sidious in his lair. The Sith Lord looked up as they entered, a cruel smile twisting his aged face. 

“Well Maul, it seems your demise was greatly exaggerated,” Sidious greeted, acknowledging his former apprentice. “And - Kenobi? But not as Fallen as your Order let the Senate believe. Interesting. Very interesting.”

Neither Maul nor Obi-Wan spoke. They simply ignited their lightsabers and attacked. Maul’s, the crystals rescued and healed, had been rebuilt, and both ends of the double-bladed lightstaff were a retina-searing white. Obi-Wan’s was a brilliant lavender, built with crystals he’d harvested on Jedha to replace the ‘saber he’d lost on Naboo.

Sidious jumped back from the attack, raising his hands and pushing them away with the Force to gain a bit more space. A moment later, twin lightsaber hilts slapped into his hands, summoned from their hiding place. The brilliant crimson of the blades flared to life, and the fight was joined. 

Maul had trained Obi-Wan extensively in countering the vicious Juyo style in which he and Sidious both specialized. Obi-Wan had in turn trained Maul in the Jedi forms, and they used this combination of skills to fight Sidious. Having rarely, if ever, fought a Jedi blade to blade, Sidious soon found himself at a disadvantage despite his skill with a lightsaber. 

Enraged to find himself beaten back, Sidious harnessed that anger and channelled it into Sith lightning. Maul grunted quietly as the electricity splashed over him. At his side, Obi-Wan hissed in pain, then shifted slightly, catching the lightning on his blade and turning it aside, then carefully moving to shield Maul from the worst of the attack.

Warmth flooded through Maul at his friend’s selflessness, along with protective anger. He stepped forward, taking advantage of the cover Obi-Wan provided to attack. They fell into the rhythm of their practice spars, Obi-Wan concentrating on defense, Maul on offense. The Force swelled around them as Maul and Obi-Wan settled, strengthening the connection that had developed between them over the years. 

_We kill Sidious_ , Maul had sworn before they arrived on Naboo. 

_Or we die trying_ , Obi-Wan had affirmed. Maul had nodded, and they’d embraced firmly, fortifying their resolve. While they’d undertaken other missions over the past few years to uncover and thwart Sidious’ plans, none had held this degree of danger.

The fight ranged out of the Sith’s lair and into the sprawling mansion. A Force-push from Maul, and Sidious crashed through a window, landing outside with the agility of a well-trained combatant. Maul and Obi-Wan jumped down through the shattered transparisteel, and re-engaged. A pair of starfighters screamed low overhead. None of the duellists had time to see who had stumbled across their duel. With a crash, their lightsabers clashed together once more. 

Again Maul and Obi-Wan pushed Sidious back, and again Sidious used his rage to fuel his power, turning aside their strikes. Without the walls of his lair enclosing them, Sidious could fight more dynamically, darting between Obi-Wan and Maul and causing them to foul one another up. 

Sidious closed with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan ducked, but not quite fast enough. He hissed as pain seared through him. Stepping back, he jerked his ‘saber up to shield as his vision went black. His right eye refused to cooperate. Brilliant white light flashed, and Maul drove Sidious from his friend. 

Feeling the touch of a Jedi against his mind’s shields, Obi-Wan communicated through his bond with Maul. In unison, Maul and Obi-Wan moved rapidly away from Sidious. Sidious paused briefly, uncertain which of his opponents to follow as they separated. In his moment of indecision, the starfighters looped back around. The pilots targeted the Sith with Force-enhanced accuracy as they fired. Sidious was incinerated where he stood as the starfighters roared overhead. 

“Friends of yours?” Maul asked breathlessly when he made it back to Obi-Wan’s side. He reached up, gently inspecting Obi-Wan’s injury and seeing that the eye had been ruined - Obi-Wan was lucky his head was still whole. The bleeding had already stopped though, the wound cauterized by the heat of the blade. It would need medical attention, but wasn’t life-threateningly urgent.

“Friends? Not exactly,” Obi-Wan said with a wry smile. “But one of the pilots is Saesee Tiin.”

“Councillor,” Maul said, and Obi-Wan tilted his head, then shook it slightly in negation. He winced a moment later, the motion aggravating his injury. Sinking deeper into the Force, Obi-Wan gave it his pain and fear, letting the healing energies begin to work on his burnt flesh.

“Former,” Obi-Wan clarified. “He stepped down some years ago to take a Padawan. I’m guessing that’s who’s in the second fighter.”

“But you weren’t surprised that backup was coming,” Maul observed shrewdly as the starfighters overflew their position, then settled onto the broad lawn of Sidious’ lakehouse. 

“No, I sent my contact a time-delayed message with all our information, in case we weren’t successful. Master Tiin has a reputation for modifying his ship, so they made it here sooner than I was expecting,” Obi-Wan admitted. Maul snorted, holding himself tense and alert as a sturdy Iktotchi and lean young human approached. 

“Kenobi,” the Iktotchi greeted.

“Master Tiin,” Obi-Wan returned, pushing back his hood and removing his singed face-covering as he bowed. 

“And your mysterious source,” Tiin said, dipping his head to Maul. Maul dipped his head in return, wary, but also confident that Obi-Wan would ensure he was treated fairly and with respect.

“Just so,” Obi-Wan said, with a smile. While he did not smile, Tiin’s presence in the Force warmed slightly. 

“I - am confused,” the young human said, and Tiin let out a low, braying chuckle. 

“Forgive me Padawan, I forgot you were acquainted. Kenobi, I believe you know my Padawan, Anakin Skywalker? Anakin, for the safety of the entire Order, Kenobi agreed to let it be said he had Fallen avenging Jinn’s injury, so he could disappear, tracing the Sith. Thus, he was able to discover the last of the line of Bane, and ensure their plans for a resurrection of the Sith Empire would not and could not crystalize into reality.”

“And him?” Skywalker asked, nodding at Maul, who had remained hooded and masked. 

“This is my brother, Maul,” Obi-Wan said. Maul sighed, and removed his hood and cowl as well, dipping his head but not bowing. 

“But-” Skywalker blurted, then silenced himself when Tiin raised a single hand. 

“Knight Maul,” Tiin greeted, and bowed as one Jedi to another. Maul blinked, then blinked again. He glanced over at Obi-Wan, who grinned, the bond between them humming with warmth and affection. “You have more than earned the title, and I have the authority to confirm it. You have faced trials most Jedi could neither withstand nor comprehend. I hope many in our Order may learn what you are willing to share.” Maul hesitated, but then nodded, accepting his new place in the universe. After all, had Obi-Wan not claimed him as a brother? And was not it seen as a confirmation of Knighthood, to slay a Sith?

“Congratulations Knight Maul, Master Kenobi. Now let’s get you to the Healers.” 

At that, Maul burst into uproarious laughter, driven to hysterics by the absolutely poleaxed look on Obi-Wan’s face.

* * *

Qui-Gon stopped short, staring. Rage and fear and grief washed through him in successive waves, each emotion overwhelming the one that came before, and yet not receding. He strode forward, tangled emotions firing him into motion. He paused once more when he was closer, staring, hands clenched at his sides. His knuckles strained, ragged fingernails digging into his palms. 

This traitor _dared_ defile the sanctity of the Temple. _Dared_ present himself as a Jedi when he had Fallen. _Dared_ kneel here in the Room of a Thousand Fountains as if it were his _right_ , as if he hadn’t desecrated every close-held tenet of the Jedi Order.

~~As if he hadn’t broken Qui-Gon’s heart.~~

The lowered chin lifted, and artificial sunlight played golden across painfully familiar features, highlighting faded freckles and a silvery scar acquired since last Qui-Gon had seen this face, seared vertically over the right eye. Qui-Gon choked on a sob as russet eyelashes fluttered, and the left eye opened, revealing an iris the clear blue of pure water. The scarred eye did not move beyond a few twitches, and Qui-Gon realized that the shape beneath the lid wasn’t quite right - the eye had been lost then. 

“ _How_?” Qui-Gon demanded, staring into his former Padawan’s face. “They - I was told - Obi-Wan - you _Fell_ ,” he accused, voice nearly trembling with emotion.

“How little faith you have, Master-mine,” Obi-Wan said mildly, then extended his hand, gesturing for Qui-Gon to join him in the grass.

Qui-Gon thumped to the ground gracelessly, staring gobsmacked at Obi-Wan. 

“You’ll catch flies,” Obi-Wan chided mildly, and Qui-Gon snapped his jaw closed so sharply he nearly bit his tongue. 

“You Fell,” Qui-Gon reiterated, and one of Obi-Wan’s eyebrows ticked up.

“Did I? Or did you assume?” Obi-Wan asked, and Qui-Gon’s mind stuttered, turning over. _Killed in anger and fear, Obi-Wan did_ , Yoda had said, but he’d never explicitly said that Obi-Wan had used the Dark side of the Force, never said he’d Fallen. The ancient Master had let Qui-Gon infer that Obi-Wan Fell, but he’d never stated that fact explicitly.

“I’ll kill him,” Qui-Gon grit out, earning a singularly unimpressed look from his supposedly Fallen former Padawan. Qui-Gon’s rage drained away at Obi-Wan’s familiar expression. How many times over the years had that measuring look pulled him up, prevented him from making a mess when he was being led by his emotions? Qui-Gon took a deep breath and let the last of his anger dissipate until the Force was quiet around them, still and calm. 

Qui-Gon reached out, his breath stuttering as he felt for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan’s light was undimmed, as warm and bright as ever, an unwavering beacon in the Force. Qui-Gon’s heart broke a little at that. How could he have doubted? How could he have let his fear of failing a second apprentice blind him so thoroughly? 

Silent tears welled up, then spilled down Qui-Gon’s cheeks. He reached out haltingly, leaving plenty of opportunity for Obi-Wan to pull away. But Obi-Wan remained still as Qui-Gon’s worn fingers brushed against his bearded cheek, then cupped the side of his face. Qui-Gon pressed his hand along Obi-Wan’s jaw, reveling in the soft warmth of his well-trimmed beard before sinking his fingers into glossy russet hair.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, as if praying, and then leaned in, engulfing his former Padawan in a rib-straining hug. 

“Oh Master,” Obi-Wan sighed, firm hands rubbing over Qui-Gon’s broad back. “I never meant to hurt you, please believe that, if nothing else.”

“No, I know that,” Qui-Gon said, “I don’t blame you for going along with whatever scheme the Council induced you into.” Obi-Wan let out a soft, tired laugh at that, hands sinking into Qui-Gon’s silvered mane at the nape of his neck. Qui-Gon shivered at the gentle tug, trying to pull Obi-Wan even closer, as if he could open up his chest and shelter Obi-Wan safely inside.

Obi-Wan held Qui-Gon just as tightly, clinging to his former Master. He had missed the man terribly. Time had allowed the pain of his rejection before the Council to fade, as had the Council’s confidence in his ability, their trust as he brought Maul into the Light. The thought of his brother-by-bond had Obi-Wan tensing slightly, and he pulled back just a little, peering up at Qui-Gon. 

“There is much I have to tell you,” Obi-Wan said, shifting his hold on Qui-Gon slightly to cup the familiar line of his jaw. Qui-Gon nodded, seeing the gravity of Obi-Wan’s expression. Obi-Wan drew in a deep breath. “The one who injured you-”

“The Sith,” Qui-Gon cut in, voice grim. Obi-Wan glared mildly at the interruption. 

“Your anger does you no good, only ill,” Obi-Wan chided, withdrawing further. Qui-Gon stilled, holding to Obi-Wan as he realized that he’d misstepped, again. 

“He is - important to you,” Qui-Gon observed carefully. 

“He has become my brother,” Obi-Wan said simply, but there was something implacable in his tone, and Qui-Gon knew that to denigrate the Sith - the Zabrak - would only draw Obi-Wan’s ire. “Maul was taken from his people younger even than Jedi Finders accept Initiates to the Order, and taught his whole life to fear and hate and obey. And yet when I found him, hope was still alive inside him, and a willingness to question, to learn, to grow beyond the anger his Master had trained him to reach for first. He came to trust me enough that we were able to defeat his Master, and he has been accorded the duties and privileges of a Jedi Knight by the Council.”

Qui-Gon blinked, keeping his mouth firmly closed as he absorbed that knowledge. Slowly, a smile dawned across his face. Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, wary against such an expression on Qui-Gon’s face. 

“Congratulations Master Kenobi,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan hissed, still not quite accepting of that title. Qui-Gon’s joy spilled into the Force, and he shifted his hands, cupping Obi-Wan’s face between his palms. “Forgive me,” he said, smiling even as his eyes began to tear up. “I never should have doubted you.” Obi-Wan melted at that, smiling up at Qui-Gon. Gathering his courage close, he leaned up that last breath between them, and brought their mouths together in a trembling kiss. 

Qui-Gon gasped at the feather-light touch, his hands tightening just a little to bring Obi-Wan closer. He deepened the kiss greedily, licking into Obi-Wan’s mouth. Obi-Wan opened readily to Qui-Gon’s advances, and reciprocated eagerly, shifting forward and tumbling them into the grass. 

“Beloved,” Qui-Gon breathed when they parted, staring up at Obi-Wan, and then drew him down into another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Fairly graphic descriptions of Maul's dismembered legs. Qui-Gon is seriously depressed and very hard on himself. Yoda isn't terribly helpful.


End file.
